Over
by Rasenganorshine
Summary: **repost of an old story** He was dead. It was over. Team Seven and its last mission. Originally published in 2008.


**A/N:** Gollee, I used to write 'em short. And vague, haha. Oh well. **This is a repost of an old story** for archiving purposes. For more details, see my profile. **Warning for gore.**

 **Originally published:** 02-24-08, Updated: 02-26-08

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 _-_ _ **Over**_ _-_

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Finally, it's over.

The enemy's body slumps face down on the ground, smoke rising from the charred flesh. I rise shakily to my feet, exchanging wary glances with my teammate. She visibly steels herself and moves in. She toes the limp shoulder and rolls him over. Breath whistles wetly through the broken jaw; I'm far beyond being surprised that even after all this, he's still alive.

But the fight is done.

His body is a terrible sight. Kanji—seals and curses—snake over every inch of visible skin in a grotesque black stain. Cuts, stabs and lacerations ooze sluggish blood that bubbles from the heat of my last attack; his face is a mass of burns and scratches. The legs have been mangled beyond use, broken in several places, bruised ugly shades of black.

She bends over this battered remnant of a man, gripping a broken kunai. I realize that it's the only one left; everything else has been destroyed. But one is enough for this. With swift precision, she plunges it into his neck at the base of his skull.

We both tense automatically, expecting beyond reason some sort of response—an act of violence, of savagery, for him to spring up again with bitter, vengeful tenacity. We both are sharply aware when the enemy stops breathing.

My teammate lets out a long breath. Her pale eyes are dead with exhaustion, but she manages a smile (even with the blood, it makes her beautiful) as she looks at me. "He's dead," she says. Then she collapses on herself, her knees hitting the ground as a sob fights from her chest. Her voice shakes with relief and sorrow. "Oh, god…it's over."

I limp to her side; standing over him. Looking down at the mangled body, I can't help but feel some empathy... some regret. We were alike, he and I. The same darkness tempted us, the same rage drove us on dangerous paths. It could have been me, lying in the dust where the ravens would claim a body even the village did not desire. Maybe it should have been.

With hollow eyes I gaze out across the battlefield. The land, decimated. Our two comrades, dead; my teammate, a sobbing wreck at my feet. I wonder morbidly if I could piece together enough of the other two to bury. But I realize that I would not have the strength to do so if I tried.

I put my hand on her shoulder. She's still shaking, though the wracking sobs have subsided into tremors. She nods her head, understanding, and stands. Her back is to the body; to me as well.

"Sensei?" She doesn't ask about the other; we both saw his spine snap in half.

"Dead." She doesn't ask for details, and I'm glad for it.

"I can't believe it came to this." Blood drips from her knuckles as she clenches her fists, but she doesn't seem to notice.

I don't answer. There's nothing to say. He hated us—truly hated, I think, by the end. He hated us for living. For being able to find happiness when his world had turned to red and black—rage and darkness. He fought to survive…to be strong. But in the end, his very strength became his weakness.

Yet none of us dreamed it would come to this.

I gather my chakra. I have enough left—just enough—for one more task. I deliberately form each hand seal, silently cursing clumsy fingers that tremble more than they should. "Katon," I mutter, and in a flash of bright, hot flame, the body turns to ashes that scatter in a sudden breeze. He is gone; not a trace of him remains on this earth.

She hears the roar of the flame. But she does not turn around until it is over.

When she does, her eyes are hard as jade. The moment of weakness is gone. There will be no more mourning for our childhood, for those long-ago innocent days. They have vanished like the ash of our enemy. Our comrade. My teammate.

"Mission complete," she whispers.

Together, we turn from the battlefield and walk away. There is no need for an exchange of words; we go in the same direction, ignoring our wounds, leaving our weapons scattered as they lie. Our backs are to the village; maybe we'll never return. The last shred of loyalty, the last flicker of hope died and was blasted from existence, just today.

This mission is finished. There will never be another.

For on this plain, this day, this moment, Team Seven dies.


End file.
